A Madman's Obsession
by Syrubis
Summary: Madness breeds obsession, and that is certainly true for the biggest madman of all, but when his obsession is focused solely on a woman he may never touch Cicero finds himself the keeper of more than just his beloved mother.


The wind picked up in the dead of night, bringing with it a chill the seeped into the bones of the unprepared. It was cold and rain loomed eerily on the horizon, mocking the young man who watched it creep closer, worried lips drawn tight. He'd been foolish, oh so foolish, such a thing was not a rarity for him. Regardless he knew now of the stupidness of his actions and the most dire of consequences should he not correct his moronic mistake. In the distance the lights of a farmhouse flickered, a candle burning low beyond its windows and shadows slipping back and forth, dancing against the ground outside and furthering the stranger's frustration.

To any traveller whom might pass by, he was a madman dressed in the attire one would find on a court jester, and that was pretty much true, but the tight fitting leathers of the brotherhood clung to his skin, hidden beneath the red fabric, keeping his body warm from the bitter cold. He could feel the weight of his blade hidden at his side and thought bitterly of destroying the two farmers who had refused to help him. He'd stood in the cold for days, his cart and its precious cargo left to suffer the whims of Skyrim's weather. He knew why they'd left him, yes, because he was mad, of course that was it. What sane person travelled Skyrim dressed as a fool? His lips drew downwards into an exaggerated frown and he mumbled again of his misgivings.

The rain moved closer, the grumble of thunder echoing in the skies above and the wind slowed with the storms coming. Cicero spat his insults to the couple settled warmly by the fire and in a quick, fluid motion he had turned, pulling himself up onto the angled cart to check to his cargo and ensure it was properly covered and concealed from the weather. In moments the first drop settled on the back of his hand, within a minutes the downpour was constant.

"Don't worry, mother." He cooed. "This too shall pass, oh yes it will, Cicero has never failed you before and he won't start now! Oh no!" he laughed, but it was not merry as a jesters laugh ought to be, it was half-crazed and furious, the man's eyes gleamed in the darkness.

"Cicero will take care of that stupid Loreius, oh yes, he'll be sorry, he'll suffer. I'll punish him, just for you, mother!"

He pushed himself over the edge of the cart, landing in the quickly thickening mud with barely a sound, the jester was light on his feet, as all members of his family were, but he was also shorter, lighter, faster, he knew without a doubt he'd never have lived otherwise. He cackled, delighted at the thoughts that tumbled through his mind, thoughts of murder, bloody and glorious. It would not be quick, no, they would suffer for his mother's suffering. Each day he'd spent in the cold would be taken out on their flesh. He was a master of torture and his victims lived for days under his ministrations.

He continued to grin, a psychopathic expression that seemed so at home on his face. Yes, madness suited him, this he already knew, and used it to his advantage. With a gentle pat to his steed's neck the man turned to the path that wound up to the farmhouses door, and had a movement in the distance not caught his eye he'd have happily danced his way to their home and murdered them in their sleep. With a slight scowl and the loss of his grin he looked wearily over his shoulder, up the road toward Whiterun. A figure was making its way down the road, though the jester could barely see through the rain and fog.

He braced himself for a bandit attack, his hand firmly around the handle of his weapon and his eyes narrowed suspiciously as the shadow began to take form. I man whose features were covered by a thick black cloak, wrapped so tightly around his form even the jester could not tell what secrets were hidden beyond.

The figure was soaked and it wasn't long before the smell of blood and war touched the jester's nose, a smell that both made him calm and tense, nostalgic but dangerous, it sent shivers down his spine and he grinned unaware. "You there!" he called into the darkness, the figure did not flinch nor change the manner in which he walked, and for a time Cicero was sure that the stranger would walk pass, indifferent. That was not the case, however, and the man came to a stop before him. Cicero did not wait for formalities.

"Please, you must help Cicero! He's stuck here! Stuck, stuck, stuck! And his poor mother, dead, unmoving but too still! Too still! This blasted wagon wheel, it's broken, and that damned farmer refuses to help! Please, stranger, you must help Cicero! Help his mother!"

The stranger lifted his hand, silencing the jester, but his attention seemed focused on the cart, and more importantly what lay safely within the crate. Cicero could see nothing but the strangers mouth, which showed no indication of the strangers mood, and for a moment the jester prepared himself for an attack, one that did not come.

"Your mother is a long way from home." The stranger spoke, her voice was gentle but dominant, certainly not a nord, or any other race Cicero had encountered. She may be a frequent traveller with no trace in her tone from her heritage, but it was unusual regardless. Cicero was glad he hadn't called her 'sir'

"How does the stranger know from where we came? Is she a mage! Of course, of course! Then you know have very, very important it is that we get moving! Cicero will pay you, with gold, clinky, shiney coins, a whole pouch full, oh yes! But you must help! Speak with Loreius, convince him to help, he can, but he won't! Cicero just wants to get mother to her new home! Where she'll be safe! Safe and-"

Once again the stranger lifted her hand to silence him, and once again her focus was not on him, not that he could tell, and how could she tell? Her face was covered half way across her nose, she surely couldn't see?

She didn't speak again; instead she turned and made her way towards the farm, and after a few sturdy knocks the door swung open. The rain was so heavy Cicero could barely see the light and in moments it disappeared and he had lost sight of the stranger, whether she'd entered or simply left was unknown to him at the moment.

He waited where he stood for some time, his gaze unwavering as the rain plastered his hair against his neck, his hat soaked and his ears numb with cold. He hummed after a time, but fell silent shortly after. He swayed from side to side and tapped a rhythm against his blade until his mind eventually stilled. He fidgeted until he didn't, and his waited, ever so patiently, for the stranger to return, if she ever did.

Finally the jester caught the glimpse of a dying glow, and a shadow in the darkness beyond, he shuddered as a pleasant chill caught his spine and with a bounce in his step he skipped forward, meeting the stranger half way down the path, far too far from his mother and he quickly waved the stranger back to the wagon.

"Well, well? What of Loreius? Will he help? Help poor Cicero and his beloved mother! Surely he would have listened to the stranger?"

"He'll help you at sunrise, rain or shine." The strangers said firmly.

"Oh thank you! Thank you! Kind stranger! Wonderful, helpful stranger! Cicero is ever so grateful, and so is mother! Here, here, coin, ju-"

"Keep it." She said with the subtlest of nods before beginning to walk away down the road, Cicero made a motion to stop her but stilled his hand, hesitant to touch her. She turned her head as though glancing over her shoulder, and as her lips moved the jester could see clearly the darkened lips and pointed fangs of an ancient vampire. "Until next time." She said, almost mockingly. Cicero could do naught but mouth a silent okay, and the stranger was on her way.

"Very well!" He called after her shortly later. "Until next time, then!"


End file.
